


i'm feeling better ever since you know me

by khakis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Shotgunning, Threesome - M/M/M, this was gonna be comfort lilo and then this happened, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:26:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khakis/pseuds/khakis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam's feeling down about the concert, but Louis and Zayn won't have any of that.</p><p>(He would have felt terrible, honestly, if anything had happened to the girl. It’s just - he <i>knows</i> everyone has a least favorite member, alright, and he thinks (not for the first time) that he’s ok knowing he’s probably it for a lot of people, because being someone’s least favorite part of One Direction still means <i>he’s a part of One Direction</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm feeling better ever since you know me

**Author's Note:**

> this was unexpected. it was a rough liam day, and that called for some zilo. (every day calls for some zilo). this is for a lot of people, you probably know who you are.
> 
> title from feel again by onerepublic
> 
> yo, zee, happy early bday babe

Liam is just - he’s just tired.

The good news is, he's recently gotten a lot better about not taking things quite so personally - although you can’t get much more personal than a sign saying “SHUT UP LIAM” - and he’s glad of that, and sort of proud of himself. He really is.

But - the thing is. Even though he _knows_ that being an international popstar is a far cry from his school days of trying to stay inconspicuous and kind and happy in the face of almost constant name-calling and rumors and flat-out rejection, even though he knows it's not the same, some days it really doesn’t feel that different at all. Tonight was one of them.

It was a visceral punch, the wind being knocked out of him, a kick to the vulnerable backs of his knees to look out over that crowd of people, all clamoring for _more_ of him, and to see bright and clear through the haze of the stage lights someone wanting absolutely none of him at all. He feels stupid for letting it bother him, honestly; stupid that the thousands of fans screaming his name can’t negate the nastiness of that one, stupid that the other sign about the band not meeting fans enough makes guilt ball up hard and heavy in his stomach even though he _knows_ there aren’t enough hours in the day for them to meet all the people who deserve it, stupid that he’s sitting here on his hotel bed, shoving the palms of his hands against his eye sockets like maybe he can keep the salty sting of tears inside if he pushes hard enough.

If he’s glad of anything, it’s that none of the others saw the signs. He doesn’t even want to imagine the kind of trouble they’d be in if Louis had seen it and given into the heat of his impulses, probably chewing out the sign holder none too politely, or if Harry had spotted it and asked to have them removed, or the ferocity of Niall’s incredulousness or Zayn’s sweet but overbearing way of treating him like blown glass when someone’s being awful. 

He would have felt terrible, honestly, if anything had happened to the girl. It’s just - he _knows_ everyone has a least favorite member, alright, and he thinks (not for the first time) that he’s ok knowing he’s probably it for a lot of people, because being someone’s least favorite part of One Direction still means _he’s a part of One Direction_.

As much as he’d like to pretend he’s ok and move on, the guilt is still sitting hard and abrasive inside of him, eroding his reserves of self-worth by the minute. He really does wish he could meet all the fans. He knows there’s no way he’d be in this hotel room in the middle of America with his best friends in the rooms on either side of him without them, and he owes them everything for that. He should try harder, probably, stop napping in his bunk and go out into the crowds with Harry. He should. 

It’s somewhat more of a triumph than he’d like to admit that he manages not to cry at all, and instead types out the most sincere message on Twitter that he can muster to the fans. He even reads over it once, tries fairly hopelessly to correct his spelling in a few places. He wishes he could post it without the others finding out, because he’ll have to pay tomorrow for not telling them sooner, but if anything is going to make him feel better, it’s this apology. He can be better. He will be.

He forces himself to get off of Twitter after a few minutes of simultaneously holding his breath and reading replies as they pour in, and climbs unsteadily into the shower. Watching the suds swirl down the drain Liam finds himself wishing he could follow them and then has to laugh at what an idiot he is. He’s a Class A moper, no question. 

He’s just drying off when there’s a knock at his door. Ah, he would be so lucky to have had to wait for fallout from the others until the morning. He debates, for a moment, pretending to be asleep, but knows that’s not going to stop any of them. He doesn’t bother with clothes, just tucks his towel around his waist and opens the door slowly, trying to school his features into some kind of believably neutrality.

Zayn is leaning against the doorframe, his eyes soft. Behind him, Louis looks murderous. The contrast is actually kind of comical.

“Brought you something,” Zayn says, pushing past Liam into the room, now slightly muggy from Liam’s scorching shower. He has his pipe with him, and a baggie, and spreads them out carefully on Liam’s bed with his long fingers, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

Liam turns back to Louis, still standing in the hallway with his arms crossed, breath almost as heavy as his eyes feel on Liam’s face.

“You coming?” Liam says, as loudly as he can bear, and then turns to join Zayn on the bed. He can’t deal with Louis like this, not right now, not on top of everything else. Louis can come in if he wants, but if Liam looks at his face again, he probably will end up crying. 

It takes a moment, and then the door closes and the bed sags next to Liam as Louis joins him. It’s quiet for a bit as Zayn carefully packs the bowl, and then Liam feels Louis’ arms creep up and around his bare torso as Louis tucks a chin over his shoulder. Liam’s whole body nearly collapses back into the warmth of Louis’ chest, a cliff crumbling into a welcoming sea.

“Please don’t be mad at me.” It’s almost a whisper, but Liam knows they’ve both heard him in the studious quiet of the room.

“I’m not,” Louis sighs, his breath warm against Liam’s ear. It makes him shudder, goosebumps chasing each other across his still-damp skin. “Well, I am. I’m mad that you felt the need to apologize for something so shitty and so clearly not your fault. I’m mad that it happened, and I’m furious you didn’t tell us sooner.”

“I didn’t want it to be a big deal,” Liam pleads, and Zayn looks up at that, shakes his head in disapproval.

“What are we here for if not to make each other feel better, Li,” he says, not so much a question as a statement as he offers Liam the first hit. 

“You go.” Zayn produces a lighter from his pocket and Liam stares at the flame as it flickers to life, turning the green of the bowl into a bleeding sunset of embers as he inhales deeply. “I dunno, I shouldn’t even feel bad about it in the first place.”

“Shut up, Liam,” Louis says, and maybe it’s too soon, but the soothing circles his thumb is making where it’s pressed against Liam’s bare stomach and the butter in his voice negates the bite of the words. It’s amazing how Louis can do that sometimes, can turn something awful around until when Liam thinks about it, it’s infused with courage and adoration and comfort.

Zayn leans forward, then, places his cool hand against the day-old stubble lining Liam’s jaw. Liam has to grin at that, at the silent question. It’s so Zayn, thoughtful in the smallest ways: he knows Liam doesn’t like the burn of taking his own drags, knows he’d much prefer someone to take it in first, like warming up a seat or laying out an outfit for him. He leans in, opens his mouth readily, tries to concentrate on inhaling as much of the smoke as he can rather than the feel of Zayn’s lips, chapped and infinitely soft, against his own.

“No fair,” Louis murmurs against the back of Liam’s neck.

“Are you going to pout, then?” Zayn asks, but he doesn’t sound all that annoyed.

“Yeah, Louis,” Liam says, twisting in his arms to face him. “Last time I checked, you weren’t the target of nasty signs at your own concert today, were you? This night is about _me_. Comfort _me_ , please.”

Louis’ grinning at him, and it makes a tide of relief rush through Liam in a heady sort of way. (It could be the weed, but it’s honestly probably just Louis). “Nah. Every night’s about me,” Louis corrects gently, leaning forward to nudge his nose against Liam’s. “Can I have a hit please, Z?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Zayn makes to hand Louis the bowl and the lighter, but Louis just looks at him patiently and refuses to move his arms from around Liam. His thumb is still working small circles against the skin next to Liam’s bellybutton, and Liam realizes with a start that he’s still only wearing his towel. Zayn and Louis are both in sleep pants and soft tshirts that he’s pretty sure belong to Harry and Niall, respectively, and he is woefully underdressed between them.

“Fine,” Zayn laughs, and leans forward to hold the pipe against Louis’ mouth. He lights it, moves his thumb, and Louis inhales. Liam feels like he’s the one sucking the smoke in, the way the rise of Louis’ chest sends a tingling burn down into his toes. 

And then Louis is nudging at his nose again, and Liam opens his mouth willingly. If rude signs every once in a while means he gets to be sandwiched between Zayn and Louis, letting them breathe into him like they’re imbuing him with a high of strength and love and solidarity, he could stand to see them more often.

It only takes a few more hits between them before Liam is starting to see the downside of being so unclothed. His limbs feel loose and kind of floaty, and although it’s probably just the combination of the high settling around him and the warmth of the bodies on either side of him, he can feel his cock starting to fatten up against his thigh. Of course, even a nice comfort session between friends would have to be marred by his uncontrollable arousal while high. He’s annoyed. 

“Is it just me, or is it getting a little sexy in here?” Louis asks, and Liam flushes, worried they’ve sussed out his growing erection already. But when he looks up, Louis and Zayn are doing that thing where they’re talking with their eyes over his shoulder, a conversation familiar and alien to Liam all at once.

Zayn breaks away, finally, to take one last hit, and then puts the pipe and his lighter down on the side table. He slides his hands up on either side of Liam’s face, his touch thrumming through Liam’s blood like a morse code, his thumbs pressed into Liam’s cheeks like they’re giving him something precious.

“This okay?” Zayn asks, and Liam doesn’t know what “this” is exactly but he’s pretty sure anything and everything’s okay with these two. He nods, as best as he can with Zayn’s hands anchoring him.

Zayn’s mouth feels different against Liam’s than it did when they were shotgunning. He’s gentle but insistent, his lips barely brushing Liam’s own at times and then pressing against him like an insistent bruise at others. Liam opens his mouth almost without meaning too, his body hot and easy and nearly propped entirely up by Zayn’s hands and Louis’ warm chest as Zayn’s tongue slicks against his gums like a streak of lightning, curling under his top teeth and drawing them even closer together. Liam sucks lightly on the tip of Zayn’s tongue, letting it slip out between his teeth as Zayn draws back to grin at him. He leans back in, nips hard but sweetly at Liam’s bottom lip, draws a low noise out of Liam that he hadn’t even known was within him.

“Love you, Li,” Zayn says, and then he’s nuzzling along Liam’s jaw, leaving a wake of flames in his path. Liam tilts his head easily, feeling the weed buzzing under his skin like a hive, begging for Zayn’s mouth any and everywhere.

And suddenly Louis’ hands are at his waist, unknotting the damp hotel towel and beginning to draw it off of Liam’s thighs.

“Wait,” Liam gasps, and Louis’ hand stills immediately, Zayn stopping too and just breathing lightly over the birthmark on Liam’s neck where he’s paused in his descent. “I’m too naked,” is all Liam can manage, words having a difficult time making it through the obstacle course of his fuzzy brain and loose mouth. His teeth feel a bit like they’re trying to escape, he thinks. Well, yes, he’s definitely high.

“We can stop,” Louis says, carefully trying to mask the worry in his voice.

“No, no,” Liam manages. That’s not what he meant at all. “No. I just - I want _you_ to be nakeder.”

Louis is laughing against his back, laughing and laughing and laughing and Zayn huffs out an amused breath of his own before dropping his head again to suck wet kisses along Liam’s collarbones. He pulls away after a moment, hauling his shirt over his head and dropping it unceremoniously onto the carpet. Louis’ warmth disappears from behind him as he moves to do the same, and then he murmurs “what the hell,” pulling his sleep pants off as well in one go. He’s wearing nothing underneath.

“What,” Louis says, not appearing sheepish in the least as he looks up and meets Liam and Zayn’s surprised stares in succession. “I came prepared for any occasion. A boy can dream, can’t he?”

“I’d say that’s pretty _un_ prepared, really,” Zayn laughs, but then he’s pulling off his bottoms entirely too, and although Liam is still stuck on the thought of Louis hoping that this night would end in a naked sort of place, the fact that both Louis and Zayn are nearly hard too isn’t lost on him.

“Can you - climb up onto, next to the, the puffy things,” Louis says to Liam, gesturing vaguely towards the head of the bed.

“D’you mean the pillows?” Zayn asks, a little incredulous, and Louis giggles.

“I’m so high,” he says, “yes, I mean the sodding pillows. Go on, please.”

Liam doesn’t really know what to do except obey.

If asked later, Liam’s pretty confident he couldn’t actually map out the words and actions that moved them from one moment, Liam arranging himself against the pillows at Louis’ request, to the next: Louis, crouched between Liam’s spread legs, licking wetly up the flushed skin of Liam’s cock as his fingers dig possessively into the heft of Liam’s thighs, Zayn kneeling behind him with a slickened finger working slowly in and out of Louis. 

The most incredible thing to Liam is how much Louis seems to _like_ this. Not that Liam doesn’t - God, has he ever liked anything _more_? - but Louis is mouthing almost frantically up the length of Liam’s cock like he’s been waiting for it all along as he also rocks backwards into Zayn’s careful fingers, now up to two, somehow managing to keep his coordination between both sensations. Liam’s sort of in awe, as he’s already cripplingly dizzy just from Louis’ tongue. Louis’ head is tilted, his face flushed and bright, one hand coming up to wrap around Liam’s dick, pull it away from where it’s pooling precome beneath his bellybutton so that Louis can take the whole head into the blinding heat of his mouth. 

Liam can’t help the way his back arches off of the comforter at that, the high that’s settled in his joints and belly and the tips of his fingers flaring up like a volcanic eruption to match the heat of Louis’ mouth, the sensation of his tongue, flat and rough over Liam’s already wet slit, the light drag of his teeth as he pulls off for just a moment to gulp in a breath. He sinks back down almost immediately, hollowing his cheeks along the slide and making an unrecognizable sound work its way out of Liam’s throat. Liam tangles his hands in Louis’ hair, desperate for an anchor before he dissolves entirely as Louis sinks down far enough to meet where his hand is fisting smooth and consistent around the base. Louis seems to like that, it turns out, meeting Liam’s eyes and pushing his head back against Liam’s firm fingers like an insistent cat, nearly purring to match the action. His tongue never ceases its soothing licks, pressing unbelievably firmly against the side of Liam’s dick despite the ferocity with which Louis’ mouth is suctioned around the heft of him. 

Liam is so overwhelmed he thinks he might actually finally cry, and isn’t that a funny twist to the evening, wet blurring his vision as Louis cups his balls, rolling them between his fingers and pressing at the sensitive skin behind them until Liam is writhing. Zayn’s face is furrowed in concentration, focused on the burnished skin of Louis’ arse, but he looks up and meets Liam’s clouded gaze, his eyes fierce and warm and adoring. Liam watches Zayn watch him, his back arching and straightening against the onslaught of Louis’ deft mouth like a bow being strung and unstrung, and something seems to shift in Zayn’s gaze. He pulls his hand away from Louis’ arse with a slick kind of satisfying noise, and Liam realizes with a start that Zayn’d had _four_ fingers in Louis. _Four_. Liam is actually going to cry, or pass out, he’s not sure which would offer more immediate relief.

“Go on, then,” Zayn says quietly after Louis has let Liam’s aching cock slip out of his mouth at the surprise of having Zayn’s fingers leave him. He’s breathing heavy and hard, his mouth open against Liam’s hip as he tries to orient himself.

“Louis,” Zayn tries again, slapping a gentle hand against Louis’ now neglected arse until he raises his head, looking up at Liam as he tries to clamor up his body, sheened with sweat from arousal and the weed and the fiery kind of love that’s slowly and confidently unraveling the ball of guilt inside of him. Louis arranges himself, spread and wet, right over top of Liam’s dick, and Liam’s standing on a precipice, ready to step off of the edge with Louis no matter what’s waiting for him below. 

Louis reaches out a hand, almost like it’s acting of its own volition, and draws his thumb against the licked-over plump of Liam’s bottom lip, pressing against the echo of where Zayn’s teeth had been a dizzyingly short time ago, despite what feels like the eons that have passed since that kiss. And then, right when Liam thinks he’s going to let go, Louis slips the salty pad of his thumb between his lips and into Liam’s mouth. It’s a secret, small and hard and steady against his tongue. Just for Liam.

“Everyone loves you so much,” Louis says, finally, and Liam’s absurdly pleased to hear the scratch in his voice, a rustiness that Liam put there, that Liam can _hear_ as tangible proof that he gets to own a piece of Louis. Zayn has come up to settle next to Liam’s head, and when Liam manages “well, not _everyone_ ,” Zayn’s hands are scritching soothingly and gently against the short hair at the back of Liam’s neck.

“Everyone who matters loves you,” Louis says, fierce as anything, and then like he’s proving a point, he reaches behind himself and guides the fat head of Liam’s dick against him. “ _I_ love you,” he breathes, almost like it’s just something Louis is saying for himself, and Liam can’t think much past the breaking open in his own brain and heart and in the arousal in his belly as Louis sinks down, fucking himself deep and smooth on Liam’s dick.

Liam’s mouth is gasped open, wide and aching, Louis’ thumb somehow back and once again insistent against his tongue. “Zayn,” Louis says, “Zayn Zayn Zayn.” Liam is mesmerized by the bunching and release of the muscles in Louis’ thighs as he rides Liam, the power in him as he grinds down on Liam’s cock as Liam tries to coordinate the syrup in his limbs so he can fuck his own hips up and meet Louis’ erratic thrusts. 

“Zayn, please,” Louis says again, and Liam’s pretty sure Louis doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, his hand finally gone from Liam’s mouth as he’s fisting punishingly over his own dick. But then, that’s what Zayn’s there for, really, to know and understand things about them that they don’t even have a grasp on yet.

“Let me,” Zayn says, his voice slow and easy as he pushes Louis’ hand away from his dick, surprising a stutter into Louis’ rhythm on Liam’s dick and a moan from Liam after that. Zayn’s on his hands and knees, now, and then he’s sinking his beautiful, beautiful mouth down over where Louis’ cock curves sweetly into the wet spot it’s made against the gold-dusted skin of his belly.

“Fuck, fuck,” Louis spits, and Liam reaches out for Zayn, missing the stretch of his lovely skin under his fingers, feeling blind even though his eyes are open and mute despite the whimpers he’s pretty sure are coming from him. He fumbles a bit, but manages to get his broad hand around Zayn’s dick, long and angry red, so hard and sadly untouched against his skin. 

It’s a bad angle, and Liam is distracted by the velvet clench of Louis around his own aching cock, the hectic flush on the swath of Louis’ skin all the way from his neck to where his dick is disappearing into the satin of Zayn’s mouth, the feel of Zayn’s own cock slicking precome between Liam’s fingers. Despite all of that, or maybe because of it, Liam manages to slide his thumb across the head of Zayn’s dick, flick his nail under the crown and get the reward of Zayn groaning around Louis’ cock, feel Louis clench in response, punishingly hard around Liam. It’s like a trail of dominos where instead of falling, Liam is just growing more and more and more aroused until he feels his stomach rippling and breath leaving him in erratic gasps.

Liam is so caught up that it’s a total surprise when he feels one of Zayn’s fingers nudging up against his cock as he fucks uncoordinatedly up into Louis’ body. Zayn’s gentle with it, pushing against Louis’ swollen rim with careful prods, but Louis takes a gulping breath and tries to relax, and suddenly Zayn’s working his finger in, bit by bit, until it’s flush up against Liam inside of Louis. It’s the strangest, headiest, best possible feeling that Liam could imagine. “Shit,” Louis breathes, almost a whisper, sinking himself down as far as he can against the both of them and coming. 

When Louis comes, it’s like watching fireworks go off, or two trains colliding in a crunch of silver and sparks, Louis’ whole body slumping forward as he cries out and shudders, his dick pulsing into Zayn’s mouth before slipping out and sliding come across the cut of Zayn’s cheekbone. He’s a vice around Liam, slick and unbearably hot, but even after Zayn slips his finger out, Louis keeps riding himself down against Liam, weak little ruts of his hips. Liam isn’t complaining. 

Zayn is up on his knees, his own hand replacing Liam’s on his dick - a good thing, as Liam barely has the coordination left to focus on where he and Louis are practically fused together. Liam’s chest is streaked with sweat and Louis’ come, and after just a moment, Zayn’s thighs tremble as he jerks out his own orgasm, his chest damp, tattoos glowing against his skin in the low light, bottom lip caught savagely between his teeth. 

It’s the sight of that which does Liam in as much as anything, the warmth and filthiness of the come across his belly, Louis’ hands pressed insistent and promising against his collarbones, his cock already throbbing with need and heat inside of Louis. He comes, then, although really there’s not a word in the English language to describe the flicker that courses through him, the ripple and stretch of his skin, the volcanoes still active and sparkling with heat within him. 

He’s last, sure, but he hasn’t lost this race. 

They’re a slumped, sweaty, pile, a volcano of their own on the now-filthy bedspread. Louis doesn’t seem to mind the mixture of saltiness between them as he flumps down, wincing tiredly as Liam slips out of him slowly and hauling Zayn in around the neck to lie with them, pressed long and loving against Liam’s exhausted, happy body.

“I’m going to need you lot to come wash me in a mo’,” Louis mutters after a quiet minute. “I don’t think I can move my limbs by myself anymore.”

“I thought this night was about me,” Liam laughs, softly, bringing a hand up to scratch at the backs of both of his boys’ heads. “Isn’t it me you should be washing?”

“Shut up, Liam,” Louis says, and Zayn snorts, leans up to press a kiss to where Liam’s pulse is still fluttering in his throat. 

Liam thinks “shut up” has never sounded quite so much like love.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://triharrytops.tumblr.com/)!


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